2017 en vrac

"Four am in the morning Carried away by a moonlight shadow I watched your vision forming Carried away by a moonlight shadow..." youtu.be/e80qhyovOnA

pour Yae (photo originale K. Roberti, avec sa bénédicition)

My dog has died. I buried him in the garden next to a rusted old machine. Some day I'll join him right there, but now he's gone with his shaggy coat, his bad manners and his cold nose, and I, the materialist, who never believed in any promised heaven in the sky for any human being, I believe in a heaven I'll never enter. Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom where my dog waits for my arrival waving his fan-like tail in friendship. Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth, of having lost a companion who was never servile. His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine withholding its authority, was the friendship of a star, aloof, with no more intimacy than was called for, with no exaggerations: he never climbed all over my clothes filling me full of his hair or his mange, he never rubbed up against my knee like other dogs obsessed with sex. No, my dog used to gaze at me, paying me the attention I need, the attention required to make a vain person like me understand that, being a dog, he was wasting time, but, with those eyes so much purer than mine, he'd keep on gazing at me with a look that reserved for me alone all his sweet and shaggy life, always near me, never troubling me, and asking nothing. Ai, how many times have I envied his tail as we walked together on the shores of the sea in the lonely winter of Isla Negra where the wintering birds filled the sky and my hairy dog was jumping about full of the voltage of the sea's movement: my wandering dog, sniffing away with his golden tail held high, face to face with the ocean's spray. Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit. There are no good-byes for my dog who has died, and we don't now and never did lie to each other. So now he's gone and I buried him, and that's all there is to it. Pablo Neruda ~ A dog has died (for Susan <3 )

Le vent du midi s'abat en rafales Sur la vallée noire où les arbres ploient Leurs bras désolés fument des gitanes J'ai froid Une fois de plus tous les droits de l'homme Sont foulés aux pieds sont jetés à bas Les maîtres sanglés dans leurs uniformes J'ai froid Une fois de plus la grande injustice La force imbécile triomphe du droit Quand la liberté tombe sa pelisse J'ai froid Encore une fois les lettres anonymes La bêtise épaisse en guise de loi La salve éclatant au milieu de l'hymne J'ai froid Si la bête immonde sort de sa tanière Nous retrouverons le chemin des bois Mets dans ma valise un gros pull-over J'ai froid Dans tes yeux soudain ivres de colère La révolte éclaire un grand feu de bois Quand fera-t-il donc le tour de la terre J'ai froid Quand fera-t-il donc le tour de la terre J'ai froid Jean Ferrat

Olympia ~1987